


crossing lines

by masamune11



Series: Noragami x K [2]
Category: K (Anime), ノラガミ | Noragami
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - Noragami Fusion, Angst, Convenient Fan-Theory, Crossover, Eventual Mikorei, Heavy Theory, It ends in tragedy though, M/M, Mild Language, Munakata is Munakata(s), Suou is Susano-O, Tsukuyomi Theory, Yato is Tsukuyomi, mikototsu - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-18
Updated: 2016-02-08
Packaged: 2018-05-14 19:19:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5755126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/masamune11/pseuds/masamune11
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They said that losing regalia was like losing a limb. They did not say that losing one's blessed regalia—an exemplar, to boot—felt like the world ended, right there. After all, a god without his exemplar was as good as lost, for an exemplar will always be the compass that will lead him to where he should be.</p><p>Without one, what does it make him?</p><p>Or:</p><p>The enactment of K tragedy blended with Noragami elements.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. the god of war lost his compass

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'ed.
> 
> In truth, I was writing a chapter which is more related to Saruhiko and Misaki. But things happen and I end up writing this piece of tragedy instead. I'm sorry.

As one of the oldest gods in existence, Susano-O no Mikoto had many names when he descended on Japan. His most recent identity was Mikoto Suoh (it wasn't hard to end up with that name; he just had to butcher some of his and arranged it as seen fit), a man in his middle twenties who preferred to slack off whenever he pleased and let his regalia be the breadwinner (Kien always gave him one of his disbelieving death glares, as if urging his master to earn up his own part despite him practically being a billionaire through his own skills; Susano-O—no, _Mikoto_ —only gave him of his smirk and his regalia would glower after everything was done and settled). Compared to the lives that he had experienced since the beginning of his conception, he had to admit that this one was the most convenient. 

He was slacking off in one of Kien’s imported bar, his regalia preparing drinks for one of his known associates (who happened to be a regalia of Ichikisama-hime, of all goddesses) who had planned to visit some times in the afternoon. Kushien—another regalia of his taking the form of a young girl with long white hair, clad in red lolita dress—napped on his thigh, her red dress ruffled with each breath she took. It was a slow day in itself, the stillness clinging onto him like slime when he felt _a sharp sting by his left side,_ right under his heart _,_ the name of his blessed regalia flashing at the edge of his mind before _the scream spiked_ —

—and he jolted on his seat when he heard threads snapping out, the scream tuning mute, and _Ryoen’s_ name in his mind gradually faded out to oblivion.

Mikoto Suoh sat hunched on his sofa. His breathing turned ragged as he reached for his right side—as if trying to pacify the burning sensation coming from the absence of his exemplar's name. Kushien stifled on his lap, her small form stirring after his bout of sudden motion, and then sat with straightened back. He could feel her concerned gaze lingering on him as he fought to keep himself together, at least until the pain subsided; he lost regalia once in a while, after all, so he knew that this kind of pain would subside given time.

(Of course, the hollowness which remained in the aftermath lingered with him—a torn bond that reminded him of his failure to protect his own.) 

"Has something happened?" Kien worriedly asked, his task in wiping clean the bartender table was entirely forgotten. His voice felt too distant for him to chain himself back to the world, so Mikoto focused on Kushien's soft, worried grip on his hand until there was nothing except him and the ache.

Surprisingly, the faded sound of Ryoen's name resurfaced weakly, as if his regalia was fighting to get back to him—to reach out for him somewhere and _Mikoto_ _wasn't_ _there for his own exemplar—_

 _—_ the god abruptly stood up an overwhelming wrath that made the youngest of his regalia—in appearance—shirk away. Kien threw him a pleading look, urging the red-haired god to calm down via their shared mental link _._ So Mikoto talked, albeit with misplaced spite, if only to placate his wrath for just a moment, "Ryoen's in trouble. We need to find him."

* * *

The weather revolved around his mood, and it was not even an exaggeration from his part. Susano-O-no-Mikoto had been always been known as the god of storm and seas, so it was fairly logical that a bad weather was a sign of his displeasure. Hence when he visited the abode of a certain goddess of misfortune, the sky around her compound had darkened so considerably that anybody would have thought that a typhoon was going to hit the area. Yet Mikoto was still sober enough to maintain control over his power. When the last of Ryoen’s name disappeared from his link, though, everything will fall apart. 

(He was muted; Ryoen’s name disappeared for a short moment before appearing back. At first, Mikoto thought that there was nothing wrong, until he realised the glow that Ryoen used to carry dimmed slowly, promising the end of his guide.)

The current goddess of misfortune looked younger than who he remembered. Mikoto felt apologetic for a moment; they were not exactly close, but Mikoto felt a sense of kinship towards the goddess who was also shunned by the heaven—much like himself. The way she looked at him with wariness and no recognition... Mikoto rued the fact that he had only known this after a long while.

Nevertheless, he was not there for social call. "Greetings, _Binbougami_ ," he greeted formally, though anyone who did not know him better would take his tone as disrespectful. The goddess' wary glance turned stony at that moment though her lips curled into a smile. If anything, she looked as if he had called her with the most terrible name possible.

"Please, call me Kofuku," she replied with plastic smile, its warmth of never reaching her eyes. "To what do I owe the pleasure,  _Susano-O_ -san?"

She knew, and yet there was no army of heaven gathering in the sky. The goddess of misfortune had yet to disclose his position, even with his storm looming in the sky. The storm god hummed as his amber eyes sought for another presence who should be somewhere around the vicinity. Finding none—to his surprise—he focused his attention again to the goddess before him, "I have a job for Yato- _kami_. Is he here?"

"Unfortunately he's out," she stifled, in a way any person did when they were harbouring a guarded secret.  _She was hiding something,_ Kien said in the links of his mind and the red-haired god silently agreed to his opinion. Mikoto's eyes narrowed at her again, this time his gaze held a promise of destruction in winds and lightning.

"You are covering for him," he drawled, the threat in his words growing more imminent as Ryoen's name within pulsated again. Thunders began striking the sky, the strain of not having his exemplar around only served as fuel to his fire. 

There was something wrong with his exemplar and  _he needed the god of calamity’s help to look for him_. Not even Kofuku the goddess of misfortune will stop him from that.

If she was afraid of her predicament, Kofuku didn't show it. In fact, her lips twisted into a cruel smirk that promised _purgatory_  (and he was not even exaggerating; he knew the capability of her regalia, having witnessed it in action several hundred years ago when they were still close friends. Sending him to the underworld can be a _cinch_ —if he were not defending himself). “I have no idea of what you are insinuating. However, if you insist on bringing bloodshed to my front yard, I _will_ have to take action, _Sano-kun_."

Mikoto learned well enough to know that a serious goddess of misfortune meant a whole deal of _shits_ , yet he kept on laying the pressure on her. Ryoen’s kanji flickered at the back of his mind, another line that made his name turning into a line of darkened ashes—

—it stung his nape.

It was just a tingling sensation, but the hurt was there, and Mikoto touched it in reflex, a foreboding feeling suddenly settling at the base of his stomach. When he retracted his hand away, the dark bluish speck of _sin_ sticking to the tip of his fingers froze him on the spot, to the point that he called off Kien’s power.

He was blighted.

(The blackened part of Ryoen’s name smelt of _despair and fear._ )

* * *

He met Yato not long after, the stray god eyeing him with wariness that may or may not be the result of his meeting with the current incarnation of Munakata goddesses. He cannot really blame the delivery god for doubting him, of course; Susano-O was the god who was banished from the heavens for his offence. Heaven held on their grudges for long, and Yato had most likely sided with them, which meant the young god would not be too keen in getting entangled with him.

But Mikoto will do what is necessary to gain his help.

“Before you went to proclaim yourself as the god of fortune— _her_ god of fortune,” the red-haired god emphasized the reason behind Yato’s change of path and noticed those blue eyes narrowed at him. Mikoto noted that at the back of his mind and continued, “you were once a calamity god, weren't you?"

“I was,” he replied, the easy air around him evaporated as his past was brought up, "if you are here for him though, forget it. I'm no longer taking requests to kill."

That cold blue eyes reminded him of the sky before dawn approached, and somehow it felt _familiar_ (like the blue kimono which a certain Munakata- _ouji_ wore during their their dangerous encounter in Oumi--a tale better told in another time). The storm god shrugged that feeling away, so that he can focus on the conversation. "My exemplar has been kidnapped," he said carefully, "and I am led to believe that a calamity god is responsible. I need your help to track this false god."

The sky outside seemed to grow darker win each second of Yato's silence. Next to the former god of calamity, his blessed regalia shifted warily, his bright orange eyes never leaving Mikoto. Kofuku, who was sitting next to the kid along with her regalia, drained her cup of tea. If she was disturbed by how their discussion had turned into, the goddess of property did not show her distress.

As the silence stretched, another line of Ryoen's name burned, making Mikoto hiss in pain as the blight at his nape spread to his shoulder blades. The sudden move made the other gods yelp in surprise, but Mikoto was too distraught to come back with a good retort; within the mental link he shared with his regalia, two of them were screaming in pain due to his foolishness for blighting them as well as they were still in their weapon vessel forms. The storm god fought for air that seemed to avoid his lung and then gasped, "r-revert, _Ki, Saki, Kushi._ "

As soon as their names were spoken, the storm god's form flashed crimson. His black jacket turned into a teenager wearing white shirt, a beanie that covered his red hair. He would have remained standing, if not for the visible sign of blight on his feet. A man with blond hair quickly tended to the teen's support, preventing him from tumbling over. There was no indication that he was at the same state as the red-haired teen, although the lines of pain adorning his forehead may indicate so. Lastly, a young white-haired girl in red dress sat by Mikoto's side, her small hands ghosting over his shoulder—where the blight remained. They glowed red, its light somehow fighting the spreading blight.

There was a sound of borderlines being formed; Mikoto need not to tilt his head to see both of the other god's regalia forming them to defend. The red-haired man quickly repressed the urge to strike the compound down with thunder strike because _fuck, he has no time for this_ _shit_ —

"Yato- _kami,"_ the blond man's— _Kien's—_ voice was strained with pain, but there was resolution in there, stronger than he expected. Not to mention, his third-in-command was actually _bowing his head_ , “we realised that we are asking you an risky thing. It is true that my master has not been in good terms with the Heaven for the several centuries back… or rather, since the banishment of our master from high heaven I bet Kofuku-san’s regalia has wisely advised you to report him.”

Kien’s eyes lingered on Daikoku’s form just beyond his borderline—one that the latter ignored—before he continued again, the pleading in his voice too apparent to miss, “but please… please consider this. My master has risked himself to come to you when things have gone dire, knowing it will put him at risk of heaven’s detection. If you help him, we will be much indebted—"

“ _Kien_ ,” he drawled dangerously, the edge of his words brimming with spite that originated from the pain of Ryoen’s charred name. The regalia shot him a defying look, though he did bite his tongue before he could spout more things. Mikoto huffed and straightened his posture and managed his breathings. He could feel Kushien’s worry resonating within himself and turned to pat her head to ease her concern.

“That will do for the moment, Kushien. Rest up,” he murmured quietly, to which the young lady nodded as she sat on the floor and fell unconscious on his lap like a rag doll, earning him many surprised gasps. Mikoto sighed and glared at their direction again, his expression hard, “look, I’ll pay you ten times higher than my previous request. If you want me to stay out of your path for years ahead, I’ll do so too. Just,” he gritted his teeth, “just help me find my exemplar."

The minor god looked torn for a moment. But then he looked at his blessed regalia, perhaps wondering the pain of losing him in ways that made him _blighted_ , before those blue eyes glanced at his amber, a firm decision lying behind those pair of azure, “…alright, I’ll help you out."

* * *

Of all things beyond heaven and earth, Mikoto should have known better of the the false god he was up against.

There were rumors swirling in Tokyo about body-snatcher which wandered on the night of full moon. He was not sure how they first started until it finally grew into a cult of its own. Where there was a cult, there will be worshipers, a place to honour the (fictitious) entity, and a tribute in its name. That was how minor god was created in this land of rising sun… except Yato told him that similar pattern occurred sometime during Edo period when he was the harbinger of calamity—a pattern that led him to make acquaintance with a fox demon. During those days, the fox demon’s favorite hobby was to enforce divine possession unto a person and create mischief. Usually, the targets were its worshippers, though sometimes it possessed a pure spirit, absorbing its purity until there was nothing left saved for a husk for Ayakashi to chew.

Yato said that the fox demon was eight-tailed when he last mashed its face, on behalf of someone’s request.

Ryoen who stood before him sluggishly wore the face of a manic human. But the nine bushy tails that burst out from his hind was a sign of doom, and Mikoto’s heart ached at the internal screams of his exemplar as the body-snatcher—the _fucking_ fox demon—burned his _name_  away.

The process stung him like hell.

(Nine-tailed fox demon meant that the fox had lived for over a thousand years, accumulating within it knowledge of the world and heaven—a mortal which will ascend to divine status. Divine beings naturally carried with them familiars to serve their intention; for gods like them, they brought with them regalia. It was only natural for another divine being to look for servants, though the method with which the being went may differ to conventional gods.

Some stole a mortal’s soul and made them its servant. Others stole them from other divine beings.

On the matter of Ryoen, it was apparent that the damned fox demon was trying to make Mikoto’s exemplar its servant.)

“Why, if it isn’t the esteemed noble child,” it spoke through Ryoen’s voice, which made Mikoto blanch internally. The regalia’s brown eyes narrowed to slit as his smile twisted cruelly ( _so unlike his playful face, stop—_ ), “your regalia resisted my subjugation _beautifully_. By the time I burn his name away, I am sure that he will be so _subservient_ to my will that he will not recognize you."

His blood boiled with so much fury that the sky overhead thundered ominously. The only thing that stop him from striking that damned fox down was Ryoen—the first of his many regalia to transform into blessed one.

(The one that had been with him from the first time he came to.)

From the edge of his vision, Yato had already launched at his exemplar with the speed of a war god. He made a series of cross-slashes with _Sekki_  (one that almost made him screech at the minor god because _that’s his exemplar which he was trying to hurt_ ), only to have them easily evaded with relative ease. Before Yato could re-balance his footing to launch more attacks, Ryoen had summoned fox fires from his tails and sent them flying at him. The minor god yelped and quickly worked to defend himself only to be thrown across the clearing with the final blue fireball.

The fox demon laughed in Ryoen’s voice—a voice that quickly turned strained as Mikoto felt the last of stroke-lines that made up his name burned away—

—to say that Ryoen’s name had gone away was not… exactly what happened. His name was still at the edge of his sense, ready to be called whenever. But the name had been _burned—embossed—_ with a power that was not his. The fox demon had tainted his exemplar with sin (because fox demon was mortal fox with ill will, once; becoming a divine entity did not excuse it of the sins that it carried from its mortal life) and it was an affront to his psyche, the blackened parts of his exemplar’s name a plaguing his essence until it completely, utterly blighted the god of war. The pain was so severe that Mikoto suddenly rolled on the ground, coughing blood, before he could even try landing a hit on his own blessed regalia. Every regalia in his possession wailed in his pain, the blight quickly spreading through each and every one of them.

He knew that the clouds above him had subsided, though not due to his will. Yato was already back on his feet given the hurried flash steps and the sound of Sekki holding out against Ryoen'sclaws, he guessed, even when said god was not within his line of vision. There was… someone else, he thought—someone who was not used of battle given their light steps. He turned his sprawled form over to get better view and found a blue dragon circling overhead. If _Mitsurei_ was here, then the one who had come to his aid was—

"Munakata, stop!"

—Yato's scream was one of urgency that quickly stole his attention, making him turn to the center of the clearing field. Ryoen's charred name stopped stinging for a moment, enabling him to assess the situation that laid before him. The image was forever engraved to his mind: the Sanjoushin-incarnate standing before his exemplar, Sanjuki's blade made a clean thrust through Ryoen's heart, and the nine tails shaking in agony as if the demon within was being expelled through the blond regalia's impaling.

Before he realized, Mikoto was already standing on his two feet.

Before he could stop himself, Susano-O had already called for  _Shoki—_ the divine garment that took the form of his black leather jacket—to expand a pair of black wings and grant him the speed to close in to both of them. His form burned red with _Unki's_ power as he made a mad dash at the bespectacled god who wisely stepped back to avoid having himself maimed to oblivion.

Ryoen's limp body lied on the ground, his gaze flickering between attentive and lost. Mikoto despairingly knelt by his side, both of his hands reached for his still form, bringing him closer. The blond man’s hand reached weakly for his face, a silent plea for him to inch closer, _because he had no more time and had only strength left for a barely heard whisper_ —

 _“_ Thank you… for choosing me as your exemplar."

The sound of his breathing faded, just like the burnt marks that made up his name did, into obscurity. But the memory of his warm smiles, the soft jabs he gave his master, the playful smirks, the furtive glances, the friendship he offered remained with him, resurfacing in the form of storm clouds that reformed as quickly as his grief peaked.

He knew that he was already lost when the first raindrop hit the surface of his hand, the remaining traces of his exemplar’s body dissipated into little red orbs of light. Mikoto held his head low as he tried his best to hold back despairing sobs, pooling at the base of his throat. Then the raw hurt became to unbearable for him to hold back; thus the god sobs in grief—a series that were easily overwhelmed by the noise of his own storm.

With his exemplar dead, what can he do?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **List of Regalias working under Mikoto Suoh is as follows:**   
>  **Format: [Given-Family Name] ([Kanji Name], [Family-Given Name]) — [Kanji]/[Sound in the name] — [Human Name] || [Vessel Name] || [Form]**
> 
>   * Tatara Totsuka (十束 多々良, _Totsuka Tatara_ )— human: 良/Ra - Ryoen | vessel: Ryouki | form: earring that serves as natural glamour which can trick even a god with great spiritual perception
>   * Izumo Kusanagi (草薙出雲, _Kusanagi Izumo_ ) — human: 雲/Mo - Kien | vessel: Unki | form: red flame that encloses its user; can be made into fire blasts, shield, aura, etc.
>   * Anna Kushina (櫛名アンナ, _Kushina Anna_ ) — human: 櫛/Kushi - Kushien | vessel: Shitsuki | form: normal unsuspecting comb
>   * Misaki Yata (八田美咲, _Yata Misaki_ ) — human: 咲/Saki - Sakien | vessel: Shoki — form: divine garment, casual black leather jacket which can sprout a pair of crow wings that enable flight
> 

> 
> **List of Regalias working under Reishi Munakata that appears in this fic is as follows:**   
>  **Format: [Given-Family Name] ([Kanji Name], [Family-Given Name]) — [Kanji]/[Sound in the name] — [Human Name] || [Vessel Name] || [Form]**
> 
>   * Andy Dōmyōji. (道明寺 アンディ, _Dōmyōji Andy_ ) — human: 道/Dou - Mitsurei | vessel: Michiki | form: Blue Dragon
> 

> 
> * * *
> 
> Colorless King will always be a villain wherever you read my fic (Miwa's an exception though).


	2. the lives and memories of a goddesses-incarnate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"Tsuyori," he murmured as he felt everything about that man fitted into his profile—that he held within a power that belonged to Munakata too, "I will call you Tsuyori."_  
> .  
>  “I think you ought to teach him something else, Tsuyori,”  
> .  
> "Regalia are just adorable, don't you think?”  
> .  
> "Your very insistence is most overbearing. You do realize this, yes?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story just happened.
> 
> I was planning to advance this story, but then I wanted to write something about Munakata's conception (even when it's still vague whoops) so this just happened.
> 
> Unbeta'ed, but I tried my best reviewing the words. 
> 
> Please enjoy!

_The first thing he remembered when he materialized on the near shore was this: he was three but one. His thought process was a mesh of four different opinions—his own and three others that he cannot comprehend whose they were—that struggled to prevail against each other, leaving him helpless. The whole sensation made him queasy, to the point that he almost fell on his feet.But a pair of strong arms quickly reached for his shoulders, steadying his form slowly so that he can gain some sort of balance. The first person whom he saw had remorseful brown eyes behind a pair of rectangular glasses and the most tight-lipped smile that he had ever seen. It promptly broke into one that sang of relief, though, which was followed by a simple greeting, "welcome home, Munakata-sama."_

_Something within him recognised this man, like a person from forgotten past. The reverberating voice of a woman surged through, like a ringing bell that filled him with power and noise. Before he realised it, the first thing that he came to say was this: "I... my name... is Ichikishimahime-no-Mikoto... not Munakata..."_

_There was a dark shadow under the man's gaze as his grip tightened around his shoulder. But the comforting smile remained, strained as it was, and the man let silence stretch so he may choose his next words. For the longest moment, both of them stayed still, until the man gently pulled the boy's knuckle to his face carefully and lowered his head reverently, as if he was a goddess that deserved his utmost attention, respect, and love. "That name once belonged to you, my liege. But now, you are Munakata-kami, the god who oversees this land, the patron of Munakata people, the guardian who looks after passages of sea travels."_

_The voice rebelled again, and this time it proclaimed a different name. It sounded like thegentlerustlesofthe wind on the surface of water. He shook his head again and said, "no... my name is Tagitsuhime-no-Mikoto... I..." The child god stopped and shuddered, the voices in his mind growing louder as he mutely hugged himself and closed his eyes. Everything was so overwhelming and broken, and the child god had no idea what was happening—_

_—the man pulled the rest of his hand so that the boy would topple forward and be caught in a hug. His chin rested lightly on top of the dark-haired god's head, one of his hand stroking the back of his head in an attempt to sooth him. "They were all you, all of them. But now please, believe me when I tell you that you are Munakata-kami. Please."_

_For that single moment, the child god named Munakata can only feel the desperation at the edge of his hearing, one that, according to his instinct, reverberated from this man. The child god closed his eyes as he expanded his sense, the thread connecting them began and ended with 'power'. A name._

_"How should I call you?" He asked, only to realise that his voice was already on the brink of tears. The man may have noticed his broken voice, because his stroking had turned slower.... but still gentle nonetheless._

_"You can call me in any way you want, my liege."_

_'Call him', his inner voice suddenly pleaded—another voice that felt like a growling storm ready to strike though it hid a gentle nature beneath. 'Call him with his rightful name.'_

_The writing of 'power' gleamed inside his mind's eye._

_"Tsuyori," he murmured as he felt everything about that man fitted into his profile—that he held within a power that belonged to Munakata too, "I will call you Tsuyori."_

_If only Munakata were to lift his head just right, he would have seen the man's expression breaking with joy. The child god settled with the thankfulness that seeped into him from the thread that connected them both._

_That was how the child god met his exemplar for the first time._

* * *

There was the smell of green tea wafting in the air. It roused him from his meager slumber. 

The memory of his first meeting with his first of many regalia lingered at the back of his mind, like a wraith refusing to stay dead. Reishi opened his eyes and let the blankness of the plafond over him wash his dissonance away. The soft smell of green tea helped in providing clarity, and Reishi found his sluggishness slowly slipping away, rejuvenating his soul.

"Did you rest well, Munakata-sama?"

At the mention of his name, the resting god nodded sluggishly from within his futon, then rose out slowly. He cleared his throat first, feeling the edge of his throat too raw for his liking, then looked at the direction of the person who asked for his condition. Reishi offered the person—the only _woman_ amongst many of his regalia—a warm smile. She wouldn't be able to tell though, because Seirei had her back before him as she continued brewing a cup of tea for her master.

(She had always been the more focus one among his regalia—the one that always had the determination to do everything _right to the end_.)

"I had a dream," he stated serenely, his attention off-handedly pointed on the scenery outside his room. The renaissance-style window across his room may seem off-kilting with the Japanese tone that he applied—from the tea-ceremony set at the corner of his personal room to the tatami mats covering every nook of his floor—but it wove together perfectly with the skylights of Takamagahara celestial sky. He found himself easier to focus onto the matter at hand, even when his thoughts were as scattered as cherry blossoms in the wind. The whole premise of calming himself surely helped him from outrageously ordering Seirei to walk away from his personal room;  _Tagori_ —the one will that he hosted as goddesses-incarnate—loathed her for reasons unknown  _and she found his regalia's lack of presence preferable._

Seirei apparently finished brewing his tea, as the fair woman slowly approached her master with his cup on hand before serving it nicely by his side. She eventually settled to sit three four feet away from her master, her mannerism laced with grace that were known only by the upper class of society. She bowed courteously again, blue eyes sparkling with worry, and yet Reishi couldn't help but feel that they match wonderfully with the butterfly-themed blue yukata that she wore then. "Was it bad?"

 _Tagori_ squirmed yet again at the corner of his mind, so Reishi focused on the soft taste of green tea again to re-balance his mind and sighed. "Yes. And no."

She remained silent, though the soft nudge—merely a graze, not a sting, from this woman through their master-regalia bond—indicated that she was stalling, for curiosity and worry deep within her will always keep burning for him. But the feeling subsided as soon as the woman shifted closer, "would you like another cup, master?” 

Reishi was about to nod in agreement when the door to his room suddenly swung open, with Mirei breathing harshly just outside the room. Without wasting another breath, he frantically exclaimed, “apologies for interrupting your rest, Sir, but we have a situation."

If he were in the right condition, he would have stood up and responded accordingly. But then every part of his body (and mind) felt out of place even after a long-earned rest. “Surely you can handle things alone, _Kura—"_

He froze for a moment, stopping himself from calling a name that did not belong to the bespectacled regalia. It was such a little thing, yet it was enough for Mirei’s panic expression to turn puzzled. Mentally, he pushed away one of the voice that labelled his brightest regalia and gathered himself to stand. Reishi promptly walked towards him, for once ignoring the rustling sound that Seirei made as she followed him, all-business and ready. “Tell me the situation, Mirei." 

* * *

_“I think you ought to teach him something else, Tsuyori,” Tagorihime-no-MIkoto chided as she watched her youngest regalia flailing around with sword in hand. The young man, not older than seventeen years in appearance, swung his blade at the direction of a training dummy standing not far from where he was. Yet every swing that he landed on it was weak (she knew that, because she used sword herself)—enough to make her wince and turn at her most trusted vassal standing by her side. “That swing_ sucks. _"_

_She was positive that the man snort. Tsuyori never snorted._

_“Would you please provide me with at least an idea, my generous lady?” he implored politely, amusement lacing his every word. “As you can see, I am only following your esteemed’s order. And let me remind you that I have specifically advised you not to."_

_The goddess huffed in displeasure and folded her hands. If he was trying to get her to admit her fault, it was so not going to happen. “That’s before I learn of Katari’s poor grip and stance,” she whined. Young Katari made another swing at the dummy yet again, except that the blade did not connect. In fact, he put his whole power in his swing that the blade  got thrown away the far-side of the front yard of her temple. It hit the ground so unceremoniously that both of them cannot help but look at its direction. The sword—a thin katana blade with brown grip created specifically by Tsuyori’s request—lied just by the side of her temple’s gate… just next to a young girl wearing a white yukata with red-striped obi who seemed to appear out of nowhere._

_Nora._

_Whatever joy remained in their eyes evaporated. Katari, who was still at the center of the yard, quickly rejoined his goddess and friend, if only to stay safe (because he may be Tagorihime-no-Mikoto’s second regalia to date, but he was still as weak as a kitten). Tsuyori glared at her challengingly, but spoke not a word. The goddess herself knew that he was waiting for her direction, so she stepped forward, just like how she did whenever the blasted Nora offered her service again and again, and sneered, “I have no use for you, Nora-san. Would you please kindly begone?"_

_The Nora seemed unfazed by the malice lacing her words. Instead, she stared at the goddess pensively, her attention lingering on her two regalia in a short moment, before giving the other a smile mysterious smile._

_“A god is only as strong as their weakest link," she supplied, her red attention eventually shifting to the regalia's mistress, "let me offer you an advise, former master of mine. When the time comes, he will cut you. Take utmost care, Tagorihime-megamisama."_

_With those parting words, the Nora withdrew her presence and disappeared from view. The goddess scowled, folding her hands in exasperation for not having her last words, and turned at her regalia. That was when she realised that her youngest regalia had turned as tense as still, eyes gazing at the ground. Tsuyori let his hand rest on Katari’s shoulder, perhaps in to reassure the young regalia. Yet Katari’s distress felt like a pinprick at the edge of her sense, earning her utmost attention._

_If she were any other god or goddesses, she would have reprimanded him for this affront. But Tagorihime had always been kind to her followers, thus she softly poked his forehead to steal his focus back. Wide brown eyes stared at her in disbelief, and the goddess cannot help but smile fondly, “I know you by heart, Katari. What she said is untrue, so don’t let her words bug you, okay?"_

_It was a a trivial gesture, yet it was enough to make her second regalia light up with joy. As weird as it might be, there was was no other time than then when she felt so relieved—right before her joyful regalia._

* * *

Tsuyori had always been the most kind-hearted regalia that he had ever had. While it might not show in his reclusive attitude, he always helped his fellow regalia—his juniors who looked up to him and tried to make him laugh only to fail—in ways that made them smile. Thus, he discovered that his regalia secretly fixed Mirei’s glass when the young regalia was broken, helped Seirei sharpen her tea-making skills, or tended to Hirei’s prized garden when the owner was not available. Yet, despite his kind-heartedness, Reishi can still see the guilt lurking behind those gaze.

It unsettled him. 

Tsuyori was once the regalia serving Tagorihime-no-Mikoto, one of the Munakata goddesses whose will was conveniently enshrined within him along with the other three Munakata goddesses. By right, the regalia’s allegiance should have shifted to him too, for he bore her will. Tsuyori did submit to his will, the bond linking him to his master was pure and supple—an old bond based on a name that excluded him from the new family which he was trying to build.

An bond that he can never regain; a bond that had been torn and reforged in the event of Reishi’s conception as the incarnation of Munakata goddesses, still fresh from the tragedy that backed up the pet project belonging to the queen of high heaven itself.

In a way, Reishi was responsible of Tsuyori’s current disposition. 

Thus, when he finally prepared himself for the hunt of Mikoto Suoh somewhere near Tokyo, he only brought with him the regalia of Rei family. He caught Tsuyori’s yearning gaze again then, mere moments before his descent to the mortal world, and felt his heart constricting painfully under his ribcage.

 (' _I am not her'_ , he wanted to say, only to realise that _it will be an absolute _lie__. He was _still_  Tagorihime-no-Mikoto, albeit not _his_. ‘ _You cannot apologise to me for the sins that you have committed against her_. 

Tsuyori must have sinned; such gaze only belonged to regalia who sought for forgiveness, after all. As for how he did so, Reishi had no idea. Memories came and went as it pleased, and Tagorihime’s graced his dreams less frequently than other goddesses' did.)

“I’m entrusting our home to you, Tsuyori-kun."

He saw Tsuyori respectfully bowing to his order, the guilt tainting his brown eyes abating if just a little, before he vanished from sight as he descended to Japan. 

 

* * *

_"Regalia are just adorable, don't you think?” Tagitsuhime-no-Mikoto mused as she looked at how Ryurei looked after Sakirei—or what their names would have been if they were already under the banner of Reishi’s clan—who managed to injure himself during their little spar. The man—or god standing next to her—snorted and pulled her to his side. The goddess only complied to his little wish and scooted closer to his side. "They feel as if they are responsible for the things happening to their master and they hurt because of that, not knowing that we can also be the source of their misery."_

_"It is what thrives them," the god replied. Tagitsu tilted her head, so that her violet eyes can catch the deep amber under strains of red hair—so that she could feel his warmth even with just a simple glance. What she caught was his smile, and she could not help but smile along with him. "It is what makes them strong."_

_The goddess knew that his argument was rock-solid—not that she was eager to contend with his opinion in the first place. After all, Susano-O-no-Mikoto had walked with mortals for far longer than she had. Naturally he would know more._

* * *

This was not how he envisioned their first meeting to be: Susano-O lying in the filth of his regalia’s sin, delivery (stray) god Yato trying to land a hit on the fox god’s vessel (fallen god, false god, did the term even matter anymore?), and a possessed rampaging regalia trying to shake free from his possessor’s grip. Reishi thought that he would be here to contend might against one of the three esteemed children—one of his main benefactor—so that he can do his main duty. Amaterasu-no-Omikami instructed him to bring her brother home, after all, and Reishi was not going to fail his mission. But now he was faced with the possibility of the god’s death over the sin of his regalia, so Reishi went with the most logical decision in this situation: he drew his sword and made a clean stab through the fox vessel’s heart.

He killed the source of their problem.

He killed the source of their problem and inadvertently invited the storm god’s wrath.

Susano-O-no-Mikoto was even quicker in his rage as he closed in to his side. The red-haired god aimed for his side, his hand blazing with fire—a result of wearing his regalia, he concluded—while glaring at him with eyes full of hatred. Seirei had moved on her own to block his incoming attack. The force behind his hit, however, was enough to make him take a few steps back. The war god did not just stop at that though; it was a smash, at first, which was then followed by series of jabs and a cross. Reishi managed to either block or avoid all of them because Mirei was directing him so well—

‘ _There is an opening to his right, a moment after he tried to attack with his left hand, master,_ ’ his regalia’s words were crisp and sure, and Reishi had only praises for Mirei. _‘ _I will give you the sign when the time is right.__ ' 

Reishi nodded at the small gesture of Mirei’s direction, his grip on Sanjuki’s handle tightening as he once again moved to block incoming punches from the other god. Seirei grimaced under the blows that came even quicker than the last, not only because of the force but also the taint of sin that Mikoto inadvertently brought with him. There was no doubt that it was the fox’ sin clinging to the marks of Ryoen’s name.

‘ _Bear with me, Seirei,_ ’ Reishi pleaded softly as he drew her again to block another incoming strike to his midriff. Calm violet eyes met with raging amber that recognised neither friend nor foe—a pair of eyes that only knew rage and fear.

How can he placate the wrath of Susano-O, who was one of the three noble children? 

‘ _Master, now!_ '

Mirei’s scream resounded in their connection so profoundly that Reishi cannot help but flow with his direction. In that split second, the goddesses-incarnate had Sanjuki drawn to his left side and pointed its edge to Susano-O's right-side ribcage. Just before the red-haired god's fist connected to his jaw, Reishi forced a clean stab that shakened the other so badly that _his rage abated right then_. Mikoto Suoh's amber eyes widened in recognition of the goddesses-incarnate. His blighted face squirmed in pain (perhaps it was pain that drove him to the edge of insanity?), but the corners of his mouth are pulled so that the man can make a weak smile.

"Told you Mashien would serve you well, princess."

Ichikishimahime's hum felt like a rumbling storm at the edge of his hearing, providing with counsel of a past long-by—of a name that was once there, but now gone, that silenced his field executor at once. Reishi acknowledged and scowled bitterly, “if he did not leave your side then, maybe things would not end like _this_."

* * *

  _“I don’t want you to get hurt,” the man offered, his amber eyes glinting almost mournfully under the shine of twilight, his lips forming a solemn smile, “so please, at least accept my gift to you. Mashien will serve you well.”_

_Ichikishimahime-no-Mikoto's expression remained stern before his offer, the evening sunlight amplifying obstinacy under her soft but sombre glance. Her sky-blue yukata fluttered, its shade rippling into sea-blue, as she turned and gave him a firm smile, “I appreciate your concern, esteemed benefactor of mine, but I will not doom one of your subjects to become Nora."_

_For a moment, the goddess thought that the god will back down at her refusal. But then the god called out his regalia's posthumous name—the one that took form of his white headband. It appeared before her as a bespectacled young man with a grumpy look cast at his own master. Yet before he could utter a single complain (because the goddess just knew that the young regalia was going to do so), Susano-O's index finger alighted red as its owner exclaimed his vessel name, "Enki!"_

_But the regalia's stature remained there, even when the word 'monkey'—his posthumous name given by the storm god—hovered between both. For a moment, the regalia seemed to hold his breath, his grumpiness faded away into something akin to fear of losing something. Susano-O seemed to catch the boy's wariness and offered him a snort._

_"There is nothing to be scared of, monkey," he smirked, his index finger lazily tracing the edge of his translucent name. The playfulness etching his face disappeared completely as he chanted, "Enki. As of this moment, I bequeath you to the care of Ichikishimahime-no-Mikoto for as long as she needs your service. Should she accept this gift and grant you your rightful name, you shall belong to her, she will fulfill her obligation as your master, and I shall release your name of mine. Now," cheerful amber eyes glanced at widening violet, its owner ignoring his regalia's sputtering, "will you accept my gift, dear goddess?"_

_Her stern face twisted into that of disbelief... and then resignation. "Your very insistence is most overbearing. You do realize this, yes?"_

_He only offered her another grin and pointed nudged at the young man. The goddess let out a tired sigh and raised her hand, her index finger glowing with her power, "I, Ichikishimahime-no-Mikoto, accept your gift, Susano-O-no-Mikoto. Thus the regalia named Enki shall be no more," the name shattered in the air, leaving the regalia perplexed. Ichikishimahime remained stoic through her words, her hand tracing new regalia’s name in the air as if she was painting._

_“You who now belong to me, with my life, I shall grant you the name Kura. Your vessel name shall be Hi,” she exclaimed, the letter ‘compare’ resurfaced in substitution to ‘monkey’. "Come forth… Hiki!"_

_The regalia’s human form promptly transformed into an orb of golden light and launched to her hand. She held onto her new divine instrument—a _Luopan_ —gingerly, her form swaying as the memories of her new regalia swam within her mind. There was another’s grip on her hand—the same one that was holding onto her new subject—steadying her to remain standing, which she was grateful of. When the memories abated, the goddess tilted her head so that she could face him properly once more, because—_

_“May he serve you well as a guide in my stead."_

_—a compass through the dark night was what she needed right then, and she had her benefactor to thank for—_

_“…thank you, father."_

_—for the road ahead of her would be dark and winding._

* * *

  
The wish was never voiced, but it was _as palpable as the air that they breathed in_.

In-between his laborious breathes, along with this red-haired god’s strained gasps, Reishi could feel the other’s desire for death. If he were in Susano-O’s shoes, he would have wished it so too; rather than burdening his regalia with their demise, it would be better for him to die and prevent his own blight from tainting his followers until _there was nothing left._ Then Reishi would ask for the other god to make it quick—to bring the pain close. 

Reishi would have asked that if he were in Mikoto’s shoes. But Mikoto would never ask him so, not because Reishi wouldn’t want to but rather because the sea god _cannot_. Killing a god was one thing, but killing one of the three divine siblings was _impossible_.

There was also the fact that this god was the benefactor of his previous incarnation’s existences.

“This hurt… this pain… it’s too much for me, Munakata…” the red-haired god whispered, his form still locked in place thanks to Sanjuki painfully holding him in place. The edge of her beautiful blade had darkened, and Reishi was aware that he ought to take out Sanjuki before he lost her to this blight. 

“Tell me how to fix you,” the goddesses-incarnate pleaded softly, because _he was not sure of his own emotion behind that plea_. “For I cannot become the one to deliver your end, Susano-O. You know this better than anyone."

Then Mikoto Suoh laughed. 

Laughter can denote what a person felt at the time. Through laughter, one can discern what really was happening to said person—this was what Reishi understood in his little that he spent walking among mortals. Mikoto’s was one that screamed of despair and pain—both physical and mental—after Reishi robbed him the opportunity to save his mind. When the laughter stopped, the red-haired god slowly pushed Sanjuki’s away—a move which Reishi did not bother stopping since he ought to do it sooner anyway—and took a few steps backward. The god muttered something under his breath, then all of his regalia were called of, with every one of them out cold and severely blighted.

“Then you know whom to call, don’t you?” he snickered and pointed his index finger to the sky, as if to remind him that his sister was still watching over them—that at any given moment, she and her army will rush to their place and deliver the peace he was due. But the sky remained unchanged, and the power within him threatened to burst under his own weakening grip. His eyes never left Reishi’s form—unchanging and unyielding, until the other shook his head in denial. That was when Mikoto Suoh learned that Reishi Munakata was far from legitimate to be his personal slayer—that, cold as he maybe, the Munakata god might have fallen for him so deep that his duty will be denied.

Susano-O did not foresee this… and yet, he never expected to be captive of a pitiful curse of hatred belonging to a fallen god. When the red-haired god closed his eyes in resignation, the miasma negativity welled out from him just as hundreds of ayakashi eyes peeked out from every part of his being. The last of his words were raspy and _cold;_ it stuck at his memory, the base of his stomach churning as he heard, “then you’re a fool, _hime-tachi._ "

Perhaps the other god was right, Reishi thought, because no god would be so cruel to subject the other to a fate filled with so much pain that _he fell_   _and turned into the most despicable form of a god:_

 _Jashin_ [1].

Reishi knew that there was nothing left of Susano-O when he looked at him, now taking the form of black lion with tendrils of misfortune taking all lives and luck around him, and glanced at those dull amber—at the fault that lied heavy on his shoulders.

He should have done something to prevent this. 

(Yet there is nothing he can do, for only one of the three can bring salvation to red-haired god.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Legend:**   
>  **Format: [Given-Family Name] ([Kanji Name], [Family-Given Name]) — [Kanji]/[Sound in the name] — [Human Name] || [Vessel Name] || [Form]**   
>  **List of Regalias working under Mikoto Suoh ( _En_ family [炎]) that appears in this chapter is as follows:**   
> 
> 
>   * Saruhiko Fushimi (伏見猿比古, Fushimi Saruhiko) — human: 猿/Saru - Mashien | vessel: Enki | Form: White headband
> 

> 
> **List of Regalias working under Tagorihime-no-Mikoto ( _Ri_ family [理]) that appears in this chapter is as follows:**   
> 
> 
>   * Gouki Zenjou (善条剛毅, Zenjō Gōki) — human: 毅/Ki - Tsuyori | vessel: Giki | Form: Dual katana, one missing its blade, and a samurai-esque divine garment.
>   * Takeru Kusuhara (楠原剛, Kusuhara Takeru) — human: 剛/take(ru?) - Katari | vessel: Gouki | Form: Dual wakizashi
> 

> 
> **List of Regalias working under Ichikishimahime-no-Mikoto ( _Sa_ family [差]) that appears in this chapter is as follows:**   
> 
> 
>   * Saruhiko Fushimi (伏見猿比古, Fushimi Saruhiko) — human: 比/Hi - Kurasa | vessel: Hiki | Form: Luopan aka “Feng Shui Compass"
> 

> 
> * * *
> 
> [1] _Jashin_ — Romaji of [邪神] which literally means evil god.
> 
> * * *
> 
> My apologies for dropping too much fan theories, especially on regalia transfer process, corrupted gods, and disposition of Reishi Munakata as goddess-incarnate.


	3. whatever happened to that calamity god?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe he was never cut to be a god of fortune.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so this story ends.
> 
> Unbeta'ed, but I hope you enjoy it.

Sometimes, Yato thought that his line of work attracted too much misfortune. The daily work orders that he got from his clients or from old man Tenjin might be trivial and did not promote much publicity of him as a god of fortune. When something big happened—something that usually involved innocent lives—however, he was left to fight off the disaster which threatened to end everyone’s daily lives. Then, when the dust settled, no one of the near shore would acknowledge his deeds because _no one can see him,_ with exception of one Hiyori Iki. Maybe he just had the most rotten luck. Maybe he was never cut to be a god of fortune.

The thought had long haunted him, but he always tried not to think of it much. The only reason why he was still striving for that almost impossible goal was to stay away from his father and Hiiro. If he could just be spared of another day ‘playing’ with them by doing menial chores, _he will gladly take them on any day_.

Then Hiyori came along—the half-ayakashi girl whose wish had yet been fulfilled. After that, there was Yukine and his post-death adolescent period. More factors had come into the equation of his life as a god, reminding him again and again that it is possible to be a god of fortune _, to defy his reason that was given by the man who wished to cull down humanity, to cut down misfortune before it struck._

If he recalled Hiyori’s kind face to his mind, Yukine’s golden eyes glinting with belief and determination, he just knew in his gut that whatever the form of misfortune before him will be, Yato will not falter on his steps, even if he were to face a great fallen god altogether.

The renowned red-haired god Susano-O-no-Mikoto finally broke his fight with the Munakata- _kami_ , his stature eventually transforming into that of a black lion of _affliction and misery._ Gone was the noble child of the three; in its wake was a  _Jashin_.

(Gods _can_ fall. The underlying cause varied from one case to another, though most of them were due to internal corruption. He never exactly observed those who did turn into one, but there was a story swirling around Japan some times during the Heian period. There was a rumour of a goddess who shared a bond with her regalia so tightly that she refused to render judgment on him, even when the regalia had blighted her again and again. When the regalia died due to unknown reasons, the goddess lamented her loss so greatly that she carried his sin with her wherever she went, until the weight of that darkness took over her core and turned her into _Jashin_.

The tale of that goddess ended with her death, her slayer being her other beloved regalia. Perhaps the exemplar finally decided that to kill her _is_ a form of loyalty—Yato certainly was not sure. He did know one important thing though: a god that was turned into _Jashin_ will lose a part of their reason—a part of self that defined them as the carrier of people’s wishes. Thus, a _Jashin_ can also be called the betrayer’s of said people’s wishes. It will always be the stem of misfortune and calamity which Heaven put on the priority list of subjugation—or so he heard from Kazuma.

Sadly, there was no known record of any god or goddess coming back from  _Jashin_ state.)

“Hey, Yukine,” Yato muttered to his trusted dual katana in his hands, drawing his regalia to prepare for an attack. He reminded himself that even when this god was the one who hired him in the first place, Yato was just doing his part to prevent calamity from spreading… even if it meant cutting said customer down. “You’re not scared, are you?"

He can hear Yukine’s resigned sigh, as if he was forced to eat his vegetables (and Yukine hated them with surmounting passion), “I am. Doesn’t mean I’m gonna leave you here."

Yato wanted to laugh right there at his regalia’s nervousness, because, _really, Yukine_ _should_ _have better_ _confidence than_ _that._ Yato lift Sekki's blade to the air, as if to taunt at the _Jashin_  even when said god was more interested with the Munakata- _kami_  standing just across the field. "Believe in yourself, Yukine. Aren't you the one who show me this path? I will not stand by and watch as calamity defiled this land."

He could feel the teen-regalia shifted in discomfort, as if his master's words were not enough to convince himself, "Yato, he may be changed, but that is still _Susano-O_. Meddling in things that could invite Heaven's attention... honestly, I don't like this."

Yato hummed, his blue eyes watchfully tracked the lion's wary movement and the dark-haired god's uneven stance at his place. Before long, the lion leapt at him—a movement that which the god easily evaded with series of graceful steps—and left a trail of corruption on the soil that it landed. The dance kept on for some times—and Yato chose to do nothing during that—until the goddesses-reincarnate lost his footing and made himself open to the lion's leaping.

That was the moment that the former god of calamity choose to launch forward. Not a moment after, Yato had already put himself between the _Jashin_ and the Munakata- _kami_ , Sekki's blade clashing against the lion's paw (which was, surprisingly, as _hard as fuck_ ). The blue-eyed god bristled under the force of impact and then pushed through with a powerful swipe. But of course, the lion had already dashed away to avoid his attack and kept his distance. Its dark eyes warily glanced at him again, as if judging the feasibility of this hunt.

Truthfully, Yato preferred the evil god to keep his distance. While Sekki survived against the attack of that _Jashin_ , Yato can still feel the corruption reverberating beneath his master-regalia connection, cracking under the life that he used to bind Yukine's soul as his regalia. The sensation felt akin to that when Sekki contended against Chiki in his fight against Father.

The fact unnerved him too much. The form behind him shifted and murmured several other names. When Yato glanced at his side where Reishi chose to stand, he noticed that the other god had dismissed his saber and summoned a bow instead, which signified his change of approach. Violet eyes met with his blue for a moment, though his wariness lingered. "You can't hurt him without hurting your regalia. _Jashin_ will try to corrupt yours, and there is a chance that it will corrupt you as well." Yato narrowed his eyes at the incarnate, his grip on Sekki’s hilt tightening. “Then how in the world do we stop him?"

The lion suddenly pawed the ground again, the arid smell of corruption wafting from the smallest gesture of the _Jashin Susano-O_  as a warning from anyone in the vicinity that _it is dangerous._ Both gods acknowledged this, which was why they both readied their weapons again, though Reishi’s next reply was almost sufficient to make the former calamity god to swing Sekki at him instead, “we don’t. We wait for Heaven to step in."

* * *

After following with Reishi’s instructions, Yato easily concluded that waiting for Heaven’s intervention was a _fucking_ bad plan, and he wondered why he followed it through in the first place.

The once barren clearing surrounded by greeneries was quickly transformed into even barren field with dying trees. The air around them had completely turned arider—more with fear, pain, and _hurt_ —in less than half an hour. There was still no sign of Heaven's subjugation army.

Talk about worst timing ever.

Through that arduous time-buying strategy, Yato had completely exhausted his stamina just to avoid any blows that came directly from the black lion. Part of him wondered just how _weak_ he is given the current situation; if he were still a god of calamity, he could have prolonged this farce for much longer.

_'To think that Father's leash had this much effect on me makes me hate myself—'_

"Watch your left, Yato!" The blue-eyed god snapped out of his reverie, his attention briefly jumped from his surrounding to the other god leaning on one of the surrounding dead trees, before barely avoiding another one of the _Jashin_ ’s corrupted energy wave. However, Yato did not notice the wicked god made a dash at him when the dust settled. So the black lion crashed onto him, his fangs trying to shred his neck—

—but then Yukine, _brash and loyal Yukine,_ jumped before him, holding back the lion’s teeth. For a moment, Yato was reminded of the regalia trying to defend him from Bishamonten’s finishing strike ( _the image of him split in two, his orange eyes widening in disbelief, the fear and shock reverberating in their master-regalia bond_ ) even at the cost of his life. But unlike that time, the silent shock did not hang in the air. Yato heard Yukine’s hurting screams instead.

He noticed that some part of Sekki’s blades—the one that held the lion’s jaw at bay—had turned _black_ from corruption, the determination of this _Jashin_ to corrupt him whole deepening its blow further. It was not just that; the pain that Yukine felt was also transmitted through their shared bond—a similar pain that was akin to _blight_. Sometime during their panicking, Reishi’s voice resonated again as the owner rained arrows upon the _Jashin’s_ form, some of them almost hitting parts of himself. The attacks did not even make a graze on the lion’s skin, as if to emphasise that Susano-O is invincible to anything.

Yukine’s scream had turned to painful sobs. Sekki’s blade had turned completely dark with _blight_.

“Shit,” he breathed out and closed his eyes, the scorned air that he sucked in along with Yukine’s pained sobs driving him to this conclusion:  _‘if he were to die then, he will die_ trying _._ '

Thus he did the most unreasonable thing: he pulled Sekki’s other blade, quickly retracted it, and then stabbed it through the lion’s neck, even when he knew that his effort would be in vain. The blade surprisingly stabbed through so cleanly that he Yato thought he was _imagining things_. Reishi Munakata had tried fighting in close-combat and long-range, with any of his effort having no effect on the _Jashin_ , but here he was, just beneath the fallen god, stabbingthrough its neck with his impaired regalia—

—the lion tried to move away, but Yato was far quicker. He quickly kicked its form away so that he can get more space, drew Sekki’s other blade that was not stuck, and then made a clean run though its heart—or where it should be. It suddenly stopped fighting altogether and Yato took this chance by delivering more stabs onto its belly and chest, before finally flipping the monstrous weight to his side. Gasping frantically, he quickly pulled Sekki from where it stuck and made his distance.

He cannot fathom the fact that he just hurt one of the divine three—

“Itsuki, bind him."

For a moment, Yato thought that Reishi meant to restrain the unmoving black lion. But when a white cloth suddenly caught him from behind and quickly covered— _disabled—_ him along with Sekki, toppling him from where he stood, Yato quickly turned his head at the other in outrage, “what the hell, Munakata?! Release me!!"

The other god strode past him, his hand robotically fixing his glasses, and turned at casted him a look. He remained silent at first, before that stoic expression finally broke into that of _pain_. “Stay, Yato- _kami_ , and let my regalia dispel _his_ blight from your own."

There was truth ingrained in his words; it was quiet inside the recess of his mind—in the space where Yukine’s thoughts and emotions blended and spiked. But now… now that he had been completely corrupted, Yato wondered if there was anything left of Yukine to salvage. It was then that the fear settled inside him—the fear of losing this regalia because _the boy had become more important than just a weapon_ —

“Sekki will be fine, Yato _-kami_ ,” the other god supplied, answering his unsaid worry (or perhaps it showed on his face?) with unknown distress that did not match with his normal tone. “So please, be still and let my regalia do his job."

The scarce sound of Yukine’s breathing from within their master-regalia bond resurfaced and quickly stole his attention away. Even beneath the tight wrap of Itsuki’s binding—the tight wrap that felt so warm and comfortable, dispelling his rage and grief away and cleaning up what Susano-O’s blight had left them with—Yato squeezed his grip on Sekki’s grip reassuringly, as if they were Yukine’s hands (because they would have been if he could just mouth his posthumous name).

Maybe it was due to his exhaustion, or perhaps the way that white cloth absorbed the blight as if it was water and left a comforting trail, that Yato slowly felt his eyelids so heavy. The last thing that saw was Reishi Munakata lifting up Mikoto Suoh’s dying form in his arms—his Susano-O form, not that _Jashin_ —with a stricken face.

He remembered the amber eyes of his customer twinkling with glee when he first entrusted the delivery of his bouquet of rose to this _Sanjoshin_ -incarnate.

Then he realised that there was something between them—and he broke it.

_How can he become a god of fortune when so much misfortune followed him wherever he goes?_

* * *

He woke up to the sound of cricketing grasshoppers and the fresh smell of summer wind.

The sun was hanging bright on the sky, while the air felt sweeter than when he fought against _Jashin Susano-O_ (anything was sweeter than _that_ ). He was lying on his back in the open field, the bright blue sky hanging just over him seemingly limitless and so carefree. He could go on like this, lazying around without a care to the world, abandoning that wishful thinking of becoming a god of fortune—

( _—to forget the girl who opened his eyes of his possibility as such god, to abandon the regalia that advised him to cut any misfortune where-ever possible—_ )

—and let things as is.

There was the sound of grass rustling just beside him, followed by someone’s movement to sit by his side. He then heard a snort, then a baritone voice that sounded so familiar yet unfamiliar at the same time. “Even in this form, you are _still_  a _coward_."

He turned at the presence—the red-haired god wearing [red _montsuki kimono_](http://image.rakuten.co.jp/rental-poem/cabinet/mon/m_enzi01.jpg)along with a pair of black _hakama_ —and saw that underestimating stare. Even before such demeaning gaze, there was a part of his heart that constricted at the sight of this person and the blue-eyed god did not even know _why_. Before he could stop himself, the words suddenly flowed out—words that cannot belong to him, _truly_ , because they have only met each other _once_ —as he retorted, “you’re one to talk, considering that you’ve been hiding from _her_ since the beginning of this _farce_."

(' _Who am I referring to? Hiyori? Bishamonten?’_ It was neither—this, he wanted to admit, because the only face that came to his mind was a woman in her grass-themed _furisode_ , with eyes as warm as the sunlight, smile as dazzling as the moonlight, and grace that weaved people’s—gods and mortals alike—heart together. The golden child, the ruler, _the mother_.)

Then, Susano-O-no-Mikoto let out a hearty laugh—one that sounded like music to his ears, so much different to the that when he faced the love of his immortal life—and forced him to sit down (to abandon that _lethargy_ ). Mikoto Suoh (he was Mikoto now and he walked among mortals to learn _life_  and _love_ ) looked at him, amber eyes twinkling with bemusement, and patted his head. “I have been a fool for starting this farce in the first place. Look at us, siblings torn in feud over the things we should oversee… a sister who thinks she is entitled to everything, a brother who tries to stay with her but ends up casted away, and then there is I..."

Before the other can continue, he patted away that hand and chided, “Stop it. I never like you patting my head like that."

(The words went out like torrents, conveying a degree of familiarity that sounded so _wrong_ yet so _right_. He never met this man until he showed up on his doorstep, yet he spoke to him as if they were friends… or closer yet, _families_.)

There was something disheartening in the way Mikoto’s bright amber eyes dulled, the sombreness of his mood inviting the clouds to cover his perfect summer day. His hand reached out for the blue-eyed god’s shoulder, his body leaning towards him, and his lips found themselves hovering over his ears—

(— _his heart was quickening, shouting silently at the man so he would not cross the line—so that the status quo_ **remained** —)

—and the storm god whispered in a voice filled with hope, “…I’ve been searching for you, long lost brother of mine. Now that I’ve found you, stop running away and claim the name that is rightfully yours…"

He wanted to push the red-haired god away, but his hand found nothing beneath that red montsuki kimono saved for formless fog. Susano-O-no-Mikoto was dissipating as they spoke, and yet he still had the gall to talk—to convey the most important words that he’d rather not hear. Alas, he was the storm in the making, the wind rolling through the forrest, a force of nature that will not be stopped… and so the god spoke with his last breath, with the very essence of wind, “remember yourself, _Tsukuyomi-no-Mikoto_."

(—but the chaos of his heart, the center of misfortune and depravity that defined him as a _god_ , shattered, leaving silence that somehow reminded of death and rebirth in its wake. The name Yaboku was suddenly of no value as the meaning of his other name resurfaced in torrents of moonlight.

The gears of fate went into motion, and the status quo that Tsukuyomi-no-Mikoto wished for was no more.)

When Susano-O-no-Mikoto finally dissipated from his mindscape, the red kimono that he wore settling snugly on his thigh, Yato was sure of _nothing_.

* * *

He woke up to Yukine’s hand on his left and Hiyori’s sleeping head not far from his right side. He was lying on someone’s bed (not his, not the one at Kofuku’s residence) with moonlight seeping through the window of his room. Yato blinked away the bleariness that plagued his eyes and moved his arms away form Yukine’s grip. The thought of almost waking up his regalia crossed his mind not long after, and Yato felt bad for thoughtlessly disrupting the other’s rest. He quickly checked on the other, sighing in relief as he realised that his regalia continued his slumber. Hiyori was not slightly bothered by his movement too; the fact that she was unharmed after his encounter against the storm god left him at ease.

Of course, the feeling soon left him when he noticed Reishi Munakata’s form sitting on a stool just across his bed. Next to him stood a young girl wearing grass-patterned _furisode_ , her bright eyes ethereally examining him as though she wanted to put him on the right frame ( _as if he was_ wrong _and_ displaced; _as if he needed help to redefine himself_ ).

She smiled and started inching closer, towards him ( _and it frightened him, as shameful as it was for him to admit, because he knew that_ he _had been caught—that he was going to be liberated from a name that imprisoned him for the last hundred of years_ ), and only stopped when Reishi’s hand fell onto her shoulder. She turned, gazing at those violet eyes with childlike innocence, and then relented. The young lady slowly returned to her place, casting a small smile on him before disappearing in a flutter of golden light.

There remained the Munakata Sanjoshin on his seat, all tense and rigid. Those violet eyes looked at him with determination, though, and Yato was glad that _at least something remained unchanged_. 

“During that fight, when I said that we will have to wait for Heaven to step it, I was not exaggerating,” Reishi said, cutting through the bullshit of courtesy that Yato should have earned ( _he was the one who killed the Jashin and passed out afterwards. Surely he earned that_ much), and stood from his stool. The goddesses-incarnate proceeded to sit just next to where Yukine’s head lolled. “My lady warned me that Susano-O can not be touched by any gods or goddesses, _Jashin_ or not. Thus when I—no, _we_ lost him to that blight, it was only natural to call for her so that she can take matters to her own hand. After all, only a child of three can finish another. And yet…"

He stopped talking altogether, and only then that Yato realised the cold hatred beneath that violet eyes—the one that screamed of loss. Reishi sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, “you and your almost broken regalia… you managed to hurt him… and end his misery when I was not able to. I know that I have to thank you for that mercy… and yet, I cannot find a part of myself to do so, not when he unwillingly wished for his erasure."

The event quickly returned back to him—the moment when said _Jashin_ was sprawled over him, his hand gripping tightly on Sekki’s hilt as he stabbed the black lion multiple times, his feet kicking it away so that he can get away—disjointed and surreal, _but there_. He recalled this god’s face, torn from the sore state the _Jashin_ was then, and then realised that _there was something intangible between them, a bond that he cannot understand—_

—a bond that he severed so that he can prevent him from creating further misfortune.

“I apologise,” he automatically cut in, only to feel the words fragmented, as if they were not born from himself—as if the one saying that was not Yato the calamity god. His thoughts drifted to Ebisu’s austere face and wondered if he had someone important who felt like this goddesses-incarnate. “I apologise for taking him away from you.”

But the Sanjoshin-incarnate only let out a strained chuckle that reminded him of the fallen god, and then replied wistfully, “there is no need. Before the authority of noble gods like you are, my words hold no sway, Yato- _kami_ … or rather, _Tsukuyomi-no-Mikoto-sama_."

The name lacked lustre, even when a tiny part of him admitted that _it was also his name—_ a name that he refused to take _now_ , because it meant a greater wrongness. “I will not answer to that name even when it is the truth, Munakata."

The _Sanjoshin_ -incarnate only bowed down his head if only to block the other from reading his emotion too much. But his bitterness showed in his next words, nonetheless, and Yato wondered why he did so in the first place. “…I prefer to call you Tsukuyomi-no-Mikoto the exalted one, rather than Yato-no-Magatsukami the slayer of _Jashin Susano-O_."

He blinked at him and finally laughed ( _broke down_ ), because _Reishi Munakata did not understand the weight of his statements_. His laughter sent both of his friends awake, confused by his bouts. Hiyori had stood and scooted closer to his side, her questions dying before they were voiced because Yato needed her silence more than her voice at that moment. Yukine had already threw himself in front of the blue-eyed god to separate him from the goddesses-incarnate, as if said god would pounce at him at any given moment.

“You got it all wrong, yet…” he breathed, and Yato suddenly found the room to be too constricting, as if he was back at that arid place and breathed _corruption_. If he strained his eyes, he could see the edges of red _montsuki kimono_ billowing in the wind, the owner’s arms encircling the goddesses-incarnate from behind him  _possessively_ , and Yato _could almost believe that Susano-O-no-Mikoto is still_ alive. But the wind faltered, the storm broke away, and the rain stopped—and Yato was left with a hollowness that was caused by his divine brother.

(A hollowness that he should not have felt, for he had no memories of time he spent as Tsukuyomi-no-Mikoto… and yet it was there, biting, _freezing_.)

“…call me whatever you wish. As the slayer of my own kin _,_ that is the least I can let you do to me."

(In the recesses of his forgotten dreams, there was a cherished memory of days long-by when he was still revered as the moon god. His first memory was of flailing by the side of his divine brother and sister—of amber eyes that gleamed stormily and bright eyes that spoke of infinite warmth and love. This was family, he thought, as he drifted away within the safety of his siblings.

 _This was home_. 

 _This was the precious thing he destroyed with his own hands_.

But that was the life of Tsukuyomi-no-Mikoto. He was Yato- _kami_. The family he had was broken and/or dysfunctional, exasperating but loving. Even if he were to remember the rest of these fleeting dreams,  _it will not matter,_ because just like how he discarded Yaboku, he will discard this title as well... if it were to be with them for a moment longer.

Yato needed nothing else.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **List of Regalias working under Reishi Munakata (Rei-family [礼]) that appears in this chapter is as follows:**
> 
>   * Ren Gotō (五島 蓮, Gotō Ren) — human: 五/Go - Satsurei | vessel: Itsuki | Form: Lotus-themed wide white blanket that absorbs blight (needs to be cleaned after use)
> 

> 
> * * *
> 
> If you've seen the Tsukuyomi reference coming from miles away, I'll give you a cookie. I have to admit, It's too tempting to cross that line.


End file.
